


Agent in Charge

by kerithwyn



Series: Beyond the Fringe: Tales from the Kinkmeme [4]
Category: Fringe
Genre: Authority Figures, Fringe Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lincoln's always had a thing for his boss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agent in Charge

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to samjohnsson for beta above and beyond the call. Any remaining errors--including the beta notes I wasn't able to successfully address--are my own.
> 
> Written for the [Fringe kinkmeme](http://fringe-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/) using the following prompt:
> 
> Broyles/anyone, authority figure kink.
> 
> Mostly an exercise to see if I could find a way to pull it off.

\--the truth is, Lincoln's always had a thing for his boss.

Okay, to be fair, Lincoln's got a thing for just about anyone. (And by "thing" he means Joss Whedon has a lot to answer for across two universes.) But seeing Phillip Broyles day after day, especially in those tight t-shirts that leave nothing to the imagination, gives Lincoln far too much opportunity to indulge his already active fantasy life.

But the images remain purely in the realm of fantasy. Lincoln is a Fringe agent and an excellent one at that, and there's no way he's going to risk his career by flinging himself--probably hopelessly--at his commanding officer. Broyles is happily married, he's got a kid who needs his father coming home every day, and Lincoln would rather shoot off his own dick than mess with that.

Well. Definitely not that far. But Colonel Broyles is as off-limits as an amber quarantine zone and it's not like Lincoln doesn't have plenty of other diversions to keep himself occupied.

That's the state of affairs for a good long stretch until the bridge to the alternate universe opens, and suddenly Lincoln is shaking hands with *another* Phillip Broyles. One who's in an equal position to his own Broyles, but not his direct superior. And who, Lincoln discovers after a little surreptitious investigation, has been divorced for a couple of years and isn't currently involved with anyone as far as the division gossip knows.

That still doesn't mean anything's really possible; Lincoln's never heard any scuttlebutt about Broyles (either one) being involved with men.

But there'll never be another opportunity, and what's the worst that can happen? He gets kicked out of the other universe? Possibly with a black eye, but Lincoln can take a punch if that's the price for finding out if he's got any shot at all.

Lincoln makes himself useful to the other Fringe team--he'd be doing that anyway without an ulterior motive, but now with even more enthusiasm. He volunteers to debrief Special Agent-in-Charge Broyles on the operations of his side's Fringe Division, laying out protocols they both truly hope this world will never need. He bugs the hell out of Broyles' assistant for his supervisor's likes and dislikes, claiming need-to-know in the name of interdimensional relations.

All in the name of relations of another sort, of course. But valuable effort regardless.

After a few weeks it's started to feel like he's throwing himself at a brick wall. Broyles is appreciative of Lincoln's work, thanking him as he would any other agent. He's still never seen the man relax; the tie and suit jacket come off during late night discussions, but that's as far as it goes. Suggestions of a drink after hours go unanswered, which is frustrating because even Colonel Broyles is willing to unwind that much.

It's another late evening going over protocols when Broyles finally stands, stretches, and calls it a night. The larger room outside his office is long deserted of other agents, and Lincoln decides it's got to be now or never.

He *tries* for subtle. "Anything else I can do for you...sir?"

Lincoln finds himself spun around, arm yanked up behind his back in a hold that threatens shoulder dislocation or worse if he struggles.

He doesn't struggle.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Mister Lee," Broyles rumbles in his ear, and oh, God, he's just been stripped down to basics with a word. Not "Captain," not "Agent," and Lincoln already feels naked even with all his clothes still on.

"Not a game. Sir." He lets himself lean back against Broyles' chest, the tension in his shoulder adding to his excitement. "I'm willing to take this as far as you want to go. Or you can order me out the door and it'll be forgotten."

"What do you *want*?" Broyles asks, sounding honestly bewildered, and Lincoln's heart breaks a little. If he's been that lonely--

"Whatever you're willing to give me," he says, knowing how it sounds, knowing how vulnerable he's made himself. But he's trusted his Phillip Broyles for years and this man hasn't done anything to contradict that trust.

The hand holding his arm lets go. Lincoln rolls his shoulder once to loosen it and then stands still, waiting, not turning around.

"Your discretion is...in question," Broyles finally says, very low, and Lincoln winces. Apparently he's not the only one indulging in the gossip pool, and his inability to keep secrets has evidently crossed the dimensional barrier.

The only option is to cop to it and move on. "It's true, I sometimes...over-share. But not when it really matters. I respect your privacy." He leaves the "sir" implicit this time, because he already feels like he's going to explode.

There's a sound that sounds like an abrupt snort of amusement, and a thoughtful pause before Broyles says, "That drink might be in order. I have a 16-year-old Lagavulin in the cabinet at home. Or Johnnie Walker Black, if you prefer."

It's a test, maybe. "If I say 'I'll have what you're having'...."

This time Phillip does laugh, and his broad warm hand settles briefly on the back of Lincoln's neck. He refrains from moaning, just. "It sounds like you're up to the challenge."

Lincoln doesn't actually *say* "I'm up for anything" as he follows Phillip down to his car. He's already made that clear enough, and Broyles, like the perceptive agent he is, has obviously gotten the message.

 

The Lagavulin is smoky, with enough sweetness underneath to balance it out. It's an interesting flavor, and tastes even better when Lincoln licks the last drops of Scotch out of Phillip's mouth. He's bad at keeping secrets, it's true. But for this one time, this one opportunity, it's worth any effort to keep his silence.

**Author's Note:**

> *nod* to Joss "The hammer is my penis" Whedon.


End file.
